Lucien's Pants
by Parmecia
Summary: Lucien Lachance has just been strung up by his ankles and murdered by the members of his own organization. Pleasantry ensues. One shot.


_Author's Note: ... Yeah. Uh... I blame Jessica Malatori. She says these things and then expects me not to write about them, or at the very least think about writing them. :D Obviously I do._

Now Lucien knew how his victims felt: shitty. Dying sucked, quite frankly. Not something he'd want to experience more than once. Well, not even once, preferably, but it was a little late for that one, now wasn't it? Just a tad.

It wasn't even the fact that he was _dead_ that bothered him so much. It was that they had the gall to leave him dead _and _nude. He would have settled for just the nudity, but the killing? That was just plain unfriendly. They could have at the very least left him his spleen, but oh no, Arquen just _had_ to eat it. She could have at least taken that outside. He was fairly certain that no one else appreciated her feasting on his innards while they were in the room.

Did they really have to stab him so many times too? He'd been fatally wounded in the first fifteen rounds at least, so did they really have to carry on like that? He had more holes than a wheel of very old cheese now.

Right now he really wanted some pants. He'd miss pants, as he rather enjoyed wearing them. They were just so damn _comfortable_, and they had pockets. Lucien liked pockets. He could keep his poisons in pockets, and his daggers in pockets. Hell, he could have kept pockets in pockets! He was _Lucien Lachance_, Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood; he could do whatever he wanted! If he wanted to kill someone, he could do it. If he wanted to stalk someone, he could do it. If he wanted… if he wanted nice silk pants, he could have them. Now he had no people to kill, no people to stalk. Nor did he have nice silk pants. No, he was strung up by his heels upside-down and _naked_. Of course Belisarius was smirking at his lack of pants. In fact, Belisarius had been the one who'd taken his trousers; Lucien always knew there was something funny about that one.

Well, at least they hadn't taken his pants off _before_ they mercilessly stabbed him. Repeatedly. And with very dull knives. The poisons they'd dipped their knives in had actually been kind of itchy, but then again none of them were particularly adept at mixing potent poisons. The one they'd used on the knife they cut his jaw off with rather tasted altogether too much like nightshade. Bellamont apparently had an affinity for it, as he'd reeked of it as he was… well, stabbing him. Smelled as if he'd been rolling in it, which in all honesty wouldn't have surprised Lucien at all. He was always the odd one, always staring at him with a particular intensity.

What a loony. Probably didn't even _wear_ pants, let alone appreciate the nice feeling of them. He and Arquen would make aspectacular pair.

Well, it would be Lucien who would have the last laugh. They really shouldn't have stared at him like that as he fell to the floor laughing when they killed him. In just a few short days they would all look like idiots when they found that he wasn't the real traitor, after all, he did try to tell him. But did they listen? Oh no, no one ever listens to poor old Lucien Lachance, he's a damn loony. Always talking in such dramatic tones and going on about… something.

Now he was dead and there wasn't anything that he could do about it. Not that he would know what he would do if there was anything that he could have done about it, but oh, would he do _something_. He would have to put some careful thought into this; it's not like he was short for time now.

The only thing he could take solace in now was that his Silencer… yes, his Silencer. She would surely take his revenge for him. After all, she had been completely devoted to him. Though, that actually had been his downfall at this time. Oh well, now it could work in his favor again. Here's to hoping that she wouldn't muck it all up. Wait, was… was that his Silencer coming up the beaten path? Yes, it was her; he'd know that smug look anywhere.

… Why wasn't she taking vengeance?! She was... she was _smiling_? Oh right, he was naked. But that couldn't have been the reason; she'd looked at him once and was grinning like a loony. By Sithis, if she's gone crazy… well actually, having her go completely mental would be rather entertaining on his part. It's not like he had anything better to laugh at, might as well stalk a crazy. She _seemed_ sane enough, so why wasn't she at the very least sobbing for his unfortunate demise?! He knew he shouldn't have trusted the Dunmer. It's always the Dunmers that get you, in the end. Always the Dunmers.


End file.
